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LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. 



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BflLlRDS FBOn THE ST. JO. 




Af U. CRULL. 



'The poet's license — 'tis the fee 
Of earth, and sky, and river, 
For him who loves them royally, 
To hold and have forever." — j. g. saxe. 



^894- i i r^ ^ 

CHARLES B. HIBBERD, l^^l^^ f ^ ^ 



SOUTH BEND. IND. 



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1^9 V- 



TO MY MOTHER. 



Copyrighted 1894 by A. U. CruII. 






CONTENTS 



The Old St Jo. - - - - - - 7 

I. MEMORIES. 

Farm Times in Youth _ _ _ . g 

Sweet Mary ------- 10 

In Summer Time - - _ _ _ j^ 

Culled from Evening - - - - - 15 

At The Blacksmith's - _ _ _ jy 

More Things of Summer - - - - 19 

Boy Life ------- 21 

The Bubbling Baugo ----- 23 

The Place to be a Boy - - - - 26 

II. Taken from The Moods and Experiences of 
George Divine. 

George Caught in The Meshes - - - 28 

Indications ------- 30 

George's Prayer _ _ _ _ _ 32 

George Away but Soon to Return - - 36 

Remembrance ------ 3^ 

Elegy for Karl Ardent - - - - 38 

Celestine :.-____ ^2 

George's Friend in- Trouble - -. - 44 

Longing ------- ^Ct 

George's Lady - - - - - - 50 

III. Miscellaneous. 

To A Little Girl ----- ^2 

Life's Mixture ------ 54 

Is Life Worth Living ? - - - - 56 

The Best in The World - - - - 58 

Farewell ------- 61 

The Dark Side --._-. 03 

The BricxHT Side _ _ _ _ . fs^ 



A Christian's Thanksgiving Prayer - - 66 

New Year's Lines ----- 53 

A Letter I Love ------ 69 

Tribute ------- ^i 

To James Whitcomb Riley - - - - 72 

Let's Be Happy ------ 73 

Unparalleled ------ 74 

Best Things ------ 75 

A Face -------- 77 

Song .--.---- 78 

Another Letter - - - - - - 79 

Evening in the City - - - - - 81 

Lines - - - - - - - - 83 

Spring Again _--__- 85 

Hymn Addressed to Evening - - - 86 

Rhyme Everywhere ----- 88 

A Beautiful Kindness - -. - - - - 91 

Musing - - - - - -- -93 

The Glory of Women _ - - - g^ 

Lines __-.--. g6 

The Old -The New ----- 97 

The Poet ------- 100 



THE OLD ST. JO. 

O RIVER, where boy-hood longed to know 
Of the larger world where you mystic went ; 
What music so wild as the changing flow 
Which the clouds to your bubbling eddies lent? 

O swashing stream, when the freshet pours 
And the snows of winter are melted away, 
When the threatening thunder cloud lowers. 
And your colors turn to a dirty gray. 

O hurry and roar o'er the shallowed place. 
And bubble and rest where the river runs deep ; 
O music of birds when the first rays erase 
The morning mist from branches that weep. 

O waters that crowd where the shore juts out 
So rocky and tangled with wild-grape vine ; 
Your wavelets and foaming go churning about, 
The shadows out on you so lazy recline. 

O stream, with a thousand youthful joys 
Strewn along the sanded and pebbly banks ; 
O laughter of rollicking, wondering boys 
With such measure of villainous pranks. 



FARM TIMES IN YOUTH. 

FARM TIMES IN YOUTH. 

Such rivers there are where I 

Come from, and the brightest blue sky, 

And the loveliest grass, and the greenest trees, 

And the croaking crows, and bumble-bees. 

And meadow larks, too, that flutter away 

And hide in the leaves and the new-cut hay. 

Oh ! isn't it wonderful fun 

To watch the red squirrels run 

On the fence, and the dog half crazy belo\v. 

And the boys with their faces all aglow ? 

Oh ! better to live where the cherry blooms edge 

As thick as the snow-flakes white, and pledge 

The richest puddings and cream and pies, 

Than to be in town with its smoky skies. 

Oh ! happier it was to climb on the plow 

Than to ride in a Pullman palace now ; 

And wilder my heart beat then to hear 

The Jew's-harp's rough tones drop into my ear. 

Than to sit while the church choir sings, 

And the tenor starts on his eagle wings. 

And the bass gets down so dismal and deep, 

While the young man close at your side falls asleep. 

Oh ! fairer it was to trembling meet 

The bonneted girls with their unshod feet ; 

To carry their books, and run and laugh, 

And bellow, and frighten the calf. 



FARM TIMES IN YOUTH. 

Than to level one's self to society's whims 

And go where the giddy waltz swims. 

O sunshine and meadow and lowing herd ! 

O flutter of swallow and humming of bird ! 

O dew - drops like crystals that swung in the sun ! 

And sun - set so golden when the day was dojie ! 

O apples and peaches and beechnuts too, 

And spider- wheels spun where the ragweeds grew! 

O strawberries red as the carpet flowers ! 

O days as short as the later hours ! 

O neighbors who joked me and made me blush ! 

O fellows who choked me and made me hush 

That nonsense ! Ah ! those were times about 

As rich in life as the world turns out. 



SWEET MARY. 



SWEET MARY. 

There are old friends that live although 

Their song is hushed, and all the glow 

Of life is gone : sweet Mary she 

Lives like a dream, and follows me 

With that wild laugh and taunting gaze — 

Her eyes were gems which song can praise 

So meagerly. How fawn - like, too. 

She ran and leaped the door way through 

When noon hour came, and shouts so shrill 

Of boys and girls swept o'er the hill. 

Her voice w^as sweet with girlish glee, 

And had such wondrous melody 

Of praise when morning school-hour came, 

And every body tried the same 

Old tunes which still are jostled out 

From childish lips that smile and pout. 

But Mary's seat one April day 

Was vacant : it was such awkward way 

To have the day's mixed tasks begin 

Unless her voice v/as mingled in 

The music ; and there was no laugh 

Upon our lips for almost half 

lO 



SWEET MARY. 

An hour. Some one had whispered round 

How such a moaning plaint, — the sound 

Of agony came through the wide 

Open door where sweet she lay inside. 

Her mother's kiss and touch so kind 

Could not allay the fevered mind ; 

The doctor with his morning smile 

In such a cheery, hopeful style, 

Was sure that soon our friend would grace 

Her seat again ; and sudden trace 

Of joy looked out from many a face. 

But as the days dragged weary on 

Another world began to dawn 

Upon the little sufferer ; 

The roses left her cheeks, and where 

Had been the laughing eyes so blue 

Such patient longing calm looked through ; 

No murmur of reproach for this 

Quick parting from youth's heaped - up bliss. 

The horses harnessed black came out 
From town, and men with arms so stout 
Caught up the wreck of what had seemed 
An angel in our lives. Tears streamed 
The mother's cheeks in her wild woe, 
And women whose lives were all aglow 
Sobbed as they looked and closer pressed 
Their babes so frail upon their breast. 

II 



SWEET MARY. 

Oh ! ^^ earth to earth and dust to dust," 

That startles me in spite of trust, 

Was trembling dropped from sacred tongue, 

And we who looked on Death so young 

Forgot the grief that had so wrung 

Our hearts ; for other lives touched ours, — 

And youth's deep griefs are like spring showers. 



IN SUMMER TIME. 



IN SUMMER TIME. 



The locust buzzes in the trees, 
And the cricket chirps and chirps at night, 
And the lazy, bumming bumble - bees 
On the sweetest clover light. 

The wagons creak and the horses puff 
And patient pull the loads of hay ; 
And at times the driver swears so gruff 
And frightens the children where they play. 

The robin breaks the noon - tide heat 
With his chirrup high on the maple twig, 
And the crow moves on with steady beat. 
While the bee - bird strikes a whirl - a - gig. 

A moan floats over the marsh and hill. 
Of the milk - maid's mooing, patient cows ; 
The breezes toss and gentle fill 
The tangled tree -top's leafy boughs. 

The house - wife sits between the doors 
And laughs as the sweetest children play ; 
Then a song of hope she playfuly pours 
As she sets the dinner dishes away. 

The turkey struts in his lordly style, 
The cardinal king of the barn - yard flocks ; 
The ducks jaunt off in single file, 
Aloft the mischief red - head knocks. 



IN SUMMER TIME. 

The chickens sit with open eye 
And ears all awake as the speckled hen 
Clucks soft and finds as she scans the sky 
That the hawk is floating up there again. 

The stable doors are open wide, 

And the dreamy pigeons sit and coo, 

While the horses' hoofs resound inside, 

And the hired - man sleeps the noon hour through. 

The clouds drift away in heaps of gauze 
Across the arch of the mystic dome, 
And the traveler starts from his resting pause 
And sighs again for his farm - house home. 

The watch - dog lazy lies before 
The barn where wagon and hay - rack stand, 
But bounds with a wish across the floors 
To catch the touch of his master's hand. 

The life of the farm is sweet to me, 

And the boyish passions still abide 

To return each year when from books I'm free 

Where my mother and sister reside. 



14 



CULLED FROM EVENING. 

CULLED FROM EVENING. 

Yonder where the fading glow 

Of sunset sinks so soft below 

The hills the bob -white used to sit 

And whistle for his mate, and flit 

Whene'er I tossed the wicked stone — 

I stand there now, it seems, alone 

And hear the wild -bird's mingled cry. 

Above, the black - birds flutter by. 

And softly comes the good - night coo 

Of turtle doves — I feel the dew 

Damp on the tender, spreading grass, 

And see the wild - cranes awkward pass 

Above the trees. The brook, whose praise 

Is sung in Tennyson's wild lays. 

Moves on between the logs and stops 

Within, the pools awhile, then drops 

In troubled accents o'er some steep. 

The early stars begin to keep 

Their vigil round a tired world ; 

The farmer's call to cows is hurled 

Across the fields until it wakes 

In yonder forest wall and takes 

Its backward bound. A soothing sound 

Which travels slow along the ground 

Is borne upon the cooling bree/e 

And niunnurs in the swaying trees ; 

15 



CULLED FROM EVENING. 

The great trunks form a line of black, 
And through its center runs a track 
Of light. The wagon with its wheels 
Grates harsh upon this peace, and steals 
Away the quiet of the hour 
With all its sense of hidden power. 
Day sinks itself in gathering night ; 
The last faint rays of western light 
Dip soft away. The heavy cars 
Roll dismally along ; the stars 
Are crowding in the arch above — 
The youth is wondering when his love 
Will be more than a rhyme - told song. 
The farmer, with his hand made strong 
By toil, sinks down upon his bed 
After his loved good night is said. 
O days ! beyond my poor recall, 
Linked to my soul with love, how small 
Thy griefs ! But in life's gathering hope 
Backward my memories ever slope; 
And while my faith grows firmer fixed 
I'll keep the doubts with courage mixed. 



i6 



AT THE blacksmith's. 



AT THE BLACKSMITH'S 

To - DAY I stopped at the back swung door, 

And a feeling of sadness swept o'er 

The scene like the one I used to love 

When I was a boy, not yet above 

The bare -foot tramp around the fields. 

What a flood of delight remembrance yields 

As I sit again and hear the roar 

Of bellows, and see the iron once more, 

And hear the horses stamp. I applaud 

The bay with words as he stands half awed 

By the black - smith's quick and steady stroke 

As he pounds the nail and drives the joke. 

The sparks leapt aloft as the canvas swelled, 

And moaned on its lips where the hot waves welled, 

And groaned while a grimy hand so strong 

Pulled the lever down, and then came a song. 

The memory of the past abides 

As life leaps along in crimson tides. 

While youth grows fainter and farther away 

Still the boys are passing the place each day, 

And they stop and twitter, and strain their eyes 

With sights like those I saw. Surprise 

17 



AT THE blacksmith's. 

Creeps into their fevered brains and breaks 

In laughter and cheers, and rudely awakes 

The embers that hide in the black- smith's heart 

As he ply's his stroke and honors his art. 

Sometimes he smiles, and again a tear 

Creeps across his cheek while he stoops to hear 

The boyish clamor and questioning 

That touch life's harp on its delicate string. 



i8 



MORE THINGS OF SUMMER. 

MORE THINGS OF SUMMER. 

Once more I sit in the shade and hear 

The bumble - bee buzz and the robin squeak, 

While across the road that runs so near 

The wood - pecker thumps with his ivory beak. 

And the breezes toss the golden grain 

And bend the tops of the maple trees ; 

The cows saunter slowly clown the lane 

And the wind - mill grinds as the currents please. 

The grass flattens out where I lie and muse 
And get back close to Heaven once more ; 
The boy thumps out with his stogy shoes 
And whistles and swings the old - barn - door. 

Thegeese gabble round and saucily hiss, 
And the guineas cluck ^^ pa - twrack, pa - twrack; " 
The doves flutter down and murmur amiss 
While the sob of the orchard floats back. 

The young apples hang in clusters on high 
And the leaves keep them company greenly rich; 
The boys look longing right up at the sky 
Where the tree - toad croaks in his hidden niche. 

Sweet scent of the meadow fills the day 
And tells of clover - blooms richest red ; 
The oriole swings and swings away 
And into the nest pulls hiick her head. 

19 



MORE THINGS OF SUMMER. 

My neighbor, the jolly and bare -foot man, 
Lies flat on his back in the front - door yard ; 
His head is lowered as far as it can, 
And his slumbers the dog's eyes guard. 

The punkins are big almost as my fist. 

And the vines are reaching all ways about ; 

While the melons begin to insist 

For room, and the corn-stalks get more stout. 

The potato - bugs climb up in the sun 
And sit as still as a practised shirk ; 
They eat and eat until they are done 
Or till the Paris - green does its work. 



BOY LIFE. 



BOY LIFE. 



Just to get a new and dainty fit 

Of clothes, and to catch the biggest chub, 

To astonish the boys with a little bit 

Of dexterous leaping across the fence, 

Without once touching your hands : to commence 

To make the hide on your fore -head rub. 

To stand at the head of the spelling class, 
And knock the ball so hard, till it flies 
As high as the maple trees ; to gas 
With the man who runs the heavy machine 
And keeps it Oh ! so nice and clean. 
And eats with his knife the freshest pies. 

And then it's a hero who can ride 

The iron -gray horses that champ the steel. 

Who can sit astride or on one side — 

High honor it is to drive the team 

And help the women churn the cream 

With the churn that turns by an iron wheel. 

And it enlarges the mimic's head 

To be requested to write his name 

In copy - books, with a pencil red ; 

And there is a thrill of pride and stir 

Of power when his neighbor calls him ''sir" — 

To be forgotten is the palm of shame. 

21 



BOY LIFE. 

When the school - mam smiles he colors quick, 

When the girls choose him he feels a thrill 

Of joy shoot into his heart, and thick 

Is his ready tongue for a little while ; 

And he is in his highest style 

When he .says a piece, and the crowd is still. 

But Oh ! he hears of the city and longs 
To see the towers that loom so high 
Aloft ; and he sings his sister old songs. 
And runs on errands to the neighbor folks ; 
But he eats green apples and nearly chokes 
As he lolls beneath the big blue sky. 



22 



THE BUBBLING BAUGO. 



THE BUBBLING BAUGO. 

Across the corn - field, past the trees 
The Baugo luns ; in galaxies 
Of waves he crowds among the shrubs 
That line his track ; he maddened rubs 
The banks of clay that shining turn 
And crook and meet the waters stern. 
He darts below J. Sticklers barn 
And spins away among the yarn 
Of calamus that mats the clay ; 
And here the shiners dart away 
As boys toss in the baited hook, 
And anxious, free from spelling book, 
They see the cork go bobbing down. 
Their faces catch the darkest brown 
In spite of straw - hats with broad brim. 
The swallows flit and float and skim 
So close beside the water's edge. 
Far out upon the rocky ledge 
The turtle sits and w^nks and fries 
His back against the sun, nor tries 
His skill at leaping, but creeps in 



THE BUBBLTNG BAUGO. 

And dives ^yhene'er you just begin 

To crawl upon him where he stays. 

Across the brook where cattle graze 

The fish - hawk screeches, seated on 

The limb from which the leaves are gone ; 

His murmur has a long - drawn cry 

Of woe for me when dog- days dry 

The brooks, and when the open sky 

Keeps on its garb of steady blue, 

And the mosquitoes half eat you. 

The king -fisher skims, and bold 

Darts by, and angered tries to scold ; 

He dips his breast in the whirling pool, 

Nor does he fly by any rule 

Of measurement, but probes his beak 

Into the stream, then goes to seek 

The hollow in the bank below 

The great oak tree, which late will throw 

The acorns in the waves and moan 

Beneath the moon when autumn's own 

Career has stripped the trembling twigs 

Of all their leaves, and frost - fall digs 

The greenness from belated corn. 

stream ! wiiere appetite was born 
In me for song of birds and bees ; 
Where panting on the matted leas 

1 tossed myself and wondered what 
On earth could be a happier lot 

24 



THE BUBBLING BAUGO. 

Than mine, with all the wealth of love 
Which parents gave. The softening glove 
Of city scenes not yet had cooled 
My boy - hood loves, nor yet had ruled 
The fashion of my coats and shoes — 
So fast and strange life's current strews 
The early hopes, and sweeps us on 
The way where higher faith must dawn. 



25 



THE PLACE TO BE A BOY. 

THE PLACE TO BE A BOY. 

All right, I confess, to live in town 
Where the houses loom up so high, 
And steeples of churches look down 
As you pass where the street - cars fly. 

It is good, I admit, to get the news 

As it fills the papers and helps you wait ; 

To wear clean breeches and well - blacked shoes, 

And to hear the statesmen orate. 

These are fine, but by far the best 

And sweetest of life for boys. 

Is to live where the wild birds nest 

And to taste the country's unmixed joys; 

To climb the hickory trees for nuts, 
And to shake the butternuts on the ground ; 
To hold to the seat w^hile the wicked ruts 
Make the Avagon creak and crazy bound : 

To hunt the rabbit and wily fox. 
And leap across the brooks and the logs ; 
To ride the horses and drive the ox. 
And to watch the wiggling polly - wogs : 

To know where the ivy twines 
And the reddest June - berries grow ; 
To mix your feet with the melon vines, 
And to scent the blossoms before they go. 

26 



THE PLACE TO BE A BOY. 

Oh ! give me the fresh, pure breath 
Of the country, without a street 
In sight; where you can watch the death 
Of the year and be the first to greet 

The May - apples when- they sprout 
And push the leaves as they cautious come ; 
And I like the croak of the frogs about 
The time when the pheasants drum. 

And the tasks on the farm which they give 

To the boy. make him walk with the sheep and pig; 

And he trusts himself and learns to live 

While his muscles and lungs grow big. 

The horses that trot are better to ride 
Than electric cars that spin 
And shake and bounce ; and too, inside 
They charge you five cents to begin. 

More goodness sinks into the soul, 
More courage gets into the brain 
Where the sun - light streams, and the roll 
Of Nature sweeps on in her strain. 



GEORGE CAUGHT IN THE MESHES. 



GEORGE CAUGHT IN THE MESHES. 

Across my lady's face there runs 
A smile which I can't help adore ; 
The larger chase the little ones 
And then they all run back once more. 
Her lips are curved so fine, and tipped 
With rosy red ; and too, a kiss 
Is there. One time I slyly slipped 
And stole a few, which she don't miss. 

I never yet have penned a rhyme 

To celebrate my lady's worth, 

For when I try to, every time 

They mix too much w^ith things of earth. 

I can't make purest things more pure 

Nor add new beauty to the rose : 

Paper and pen I am quite sure 

Will fail to even half disclose. 

Something is prisoned in my vest — 
I wonder if the same will be 
When I am older and the best 
Of life eterne is gone from me ? 
The sweetest smiles that oftimes live 
On lady lips, or e'en a laugh 
Like giant's roar, could never give 
My secret all away, nor half. 

28 



GEORGE CAUGHT IN THE MESHES. 

Far stretched the prairies lie between, 
And miles of forest bar my eyes 
From sight of hers. The hills were green 
When last we parted, and the skies 
Were smoky all around the edge ; 
The black - bird beat his random way. 
And sparrows fluttered in the hedge — 
How sweet it would have been to stay I 

I will not vex myself with doubt 
To know if these pure joys can last ; 
Not now shall they be put to rout 
By sterner things — Fll hold them fast. 
Life is so strangely, deftly spun 
With mingling of the false and true. 
When once a joy unmixed IVe won 
Oh ! let me live it slowly through. 

Let Byron rage and strike his chain. 
Let cynics hug their wretched choice ; 
Let me strike up a little strain 
To suit my lady's trembling voice, 
ril seek the rose and not the thorn, 
And when the roses cease to grow 
And bloom Til hasten to adorn 
With other flowers — I hate old woe I 



29 



INDICATIONS. 



INDICATIONS. 

George left me just a little while ago : 

I asked him what was on again — you know 

That we are confidential friends, and they 

Are rather scarce along the world's high - way. 

But to-night my friend was silent, and the dart 

Of humor in his eye shut oat my heart ; 

But then it is plain that when I once confess 

That secrecy is mean — Yes, wretchedness — 

The boy will let me see what is inside 

His own heart's core ; I never yet defied 

Him when he challenged me to let him see 

My deepest plot of love and secrecy. 

And friendship is a jealous, fleeing thing. 

Nor will it stay where light doubts bring 

Suspicion ever so small : the heart must be 

As frank as morning sunrise and as free 

As holy Christian's love for Himx w^io fain 

Would humanly have missed dark Calvary's pain. 

But now the meaning of his eye I know — 

Soft ! listen while the moon is dipping low^ 

Into the lurid West ; the soft tones flow 

Along the street ; the crisp and midnight air 

Is freighted with a song — almost a prayer. 

It is the lover's strain, sweet serenade. 

And I am anxious, too, yes l.alf afraid 

30 



INDICATIONS. 

Lest she who sleeps in yonder darkened room 

May only dream that in the night's deep gloom 

A hero came and called in sobbing tone — 

But no, for they who worship from the throne 

Which love lifts up, not slowly recognize 

The voice which all through waking hours they prize. 

And now the song is gone, and with it, too, 

A youthful hope and fervor larger grew : 

Soft hands are used to send a girPs reply. 

And with the plauding George again will try. 

O these are little Juliet and Romeo ! 

It is the wide world's way : this overflow 

Of youthful bliss will never, never cease, 

Though lover's vows are broken and increase 

Of anguish comes with gathering years. How plain 

Why George would only smile ! he won't refrain 

From pouring out his secret now, and we 

Will laugh and celebrate right royally. 



31 



GEORGE'S PRAYER. 

Kind Father/ what hast thou not done 

To help the quickening pulses run 

With ecstacy ! What world could be 

More crowned with love than this I see 

About me ? Such childish laughs and pranks 

Are every where : no later clanks 

Of fear oppressed love they feel, 

But every moment starts a pe^l 

Of joy from off red lips ; the tear 

That transient griefs press out, is near 

Upon a smile, which latent lies 

And breaks before the sorrow dies. 

All this I lived one time, and yet 

There linger memories I can't forget. 

Of youth's own bliss of things possessed. 

Dear Lord, have not I been caressed 

By mother hands ? have not lips pressed 

To mine her fondest tear- wet kiss? 

Nor do I now once daily miss 

Her prayer for me, and when 1 take 

Long leave of her there is such ache 

In this full heart — could thy great thought 

Spare her least pain ; may never aught 

Of all I do rob her of sleep 

Or make the furrows sink more deep 

32 



George's prayer. 

Upon her cheek. My brothers are 
Grown men, but every little jar 
To us hurts those hard wrung heart strings 
Which loved us through the darkest things. 

Christ and God! Thou hast returned 
The blossoms to the trees and earned 
Such love from me ! I saddened yearned 
To see the meadow with its dress 
Come noiseless back, that I might press 
My heart upon the mother fair, 

Who with anemones set there 

And pansies sweet, outruns my prayer. 

And this deep frightened breath 

Swept out the wood, has banished death 

From every hill ; the swaying pine 

Is lost among the greener twine 

Of vines and tossing, fluttering flags 

Of foliage ; the little crags 

Of greenness spread across the hill 

Tempt me to stop. O God, I will 

Not ask for garlands better twined 

1 han these whereon I fall, inclined 
To sleep and dream. But O ! I would 
The little girls in alleys could 

Breathe here the breath which tosses white 
The blossoms where I try to write. 
And if there were more loved in all 
The hearts that crowd to see the fall 

33 



GEORGE'S PRAYER. 

Of ashes on some fevered face 

Which lets this world of beauty go 

And meets the things almost we know ! 

O, Christ ! shall I profane these lips 

To ask thee for great things — high place 

Where manhood stoops and sullied slips ? 

Couldst Ttiou, O holy, holy One, 

Let all my heart's outgoings run 

With keener zest, to those who sit 

In darkness ? in whose face is writ 

The blush of shame ? And if it may 

Be so, help us to find the way 

To call the deadened virtue back 

To some dark - dealing soul. Unpack 

The selfishness which sits enthroned 

In hearts of those who Christ have owned 

Upon their lips, but never yet 

Have eager tried to soothing let 

The good deed find its patient way 

Where sorrow sits and scarce can pray. 

Father, befriend, O not forsake 

The ones unloved who maddened wake 

And scorn the sun - beams as they find 

The shadows in the filthy mind. 

And there are still forgotten things 

For which my heart so riven sings, — 

Loved ones on whom the curtain swings 

Of poverty, and cruel brings 

34 



George's prayer. 

The sleepless night of dread unrest. 

Need this be so ? Thou knowest best 

Which way all dutys should be learned, 

And how the common problem burned 

Into life's core. Be blessings on 

Me when the blithesome days are gone, 

Be my first love as pure and calm 

As when I earliest drank the balm 

Of kisses oif the willing lips. 

And mid all pain, through awkward slips 

Of life, may every effort lift 

Some one and make the shadows drift. 



35 



GEORGE AWAY ! BUT SOON TO RETURN. 



GEORGE AWAY! BUT SOON TO RETURN. 

The leaves are falling and softly float 
The laughter and ripple of waters, and in 
The night - time from the cuckoo's throat 
The wierd notes come ; and now begin 
To gather the frogs along the stream, 
And the marsh is dark and still, 
While the early fire - flies gleam 
Down below the silent mill. 

In this calm hour Clotilde 

Sits twining the tendrils and leaves 

Which her lap have carelessly filled ; 

And in her heart she silent grieves 

That I must away on the morrow's sunrise 

To the land where the cypress swings. 

And the summer never dies, 

And no winter - wind sings. 

Good night ! and farewell, O love, 
Until my errand is done ; 
With thee in my heart and God above. 
My labor will lightly be won 
And letters Til send and flowers 
Plucked off from the orange trees, 
To hurry the days and the hours 
Till again I kiss thy lips with these. 

36 



GEORGE'S REMEMBRANCE. 



GEORGE'S REMEMBRANCE. 

But O! for a pen that rightly might tell 

The secret I keep and save it so well, 

Of the love whose presence is ever near, 

Though the winter chills and the storm beats drear; 

And the times when we pressed the daisies sweet 

And crowded the sand down under our feet ; 

Of the things that we knew yet did not say 

As the stars turned round the arched way. 

Dear sunshine and shadow were all forgot ; 

The tremble of trees in the garden lot 

We saw, but the love that we worshiping knew, 

As pure as the dawn, as chaste as the dew, 

Filled full our hearts and calmly shut out 

The world that mixed - up was scattered about. 



">! 



George's elegy for karl ardent. 



GEORGE'S ELEGY FOR KARL ARDENT. 

PRIEST, your words are dark with pain ; 
You try to tell me what his share 

Of bliss : but you forget the gain 
That I had in his face so fair. 
So many times we met and vied 
In friendly feats of earnest thought — 
Lm sure no ill can him betide, 
But such sincerity he brought. 

His picture hangs above my chair, 
Those eyes so steady scan my face, 
And in that deep, courageous air 

1 see the type of manly grace. 
No trace of cowardice is here, 

No sign of choice for sensuous sin — 
My friend ! his love I had sincere, 
No maiden had essayed to win. 

Where is he now ? not long ago 
He gave me entrance to his heart ; 
My face is wet with streaming woe. 
My life has sore been torn apart. 
His sister does not moan, but I 
Can scarce be reconciled to fate — 
These tears would cease did I but try, 
But griefs would fast accumulate. 

38 



George's elegy for karl ardent. 



Oh ! life has so much lack of joy, 
And those in whom our trust is fixed 
Are ah ! so few : he kept the boy 
So sweetly with his manhood mixed. 
When sorrow dropped upon my hope 
He had such words of kind appeal 
That I could see the future slope 
Into the light. Almost I feel 

The pressure of that firm right hand 

Upon my- arm even as I write — 

How soldiery he used to stand 

And chafe me for my sighs ! he might 

Have stayed below and blessed me still 

As life runs swiftly to its end ; 

It was his constant aim to fill 

My joys — beneath this woe I bend. 

Shall I wear emblems of my grief 
To let the world know why my face 
Is sad ? could this bring least relief, 
And would it help to live and chase 
The shadows from my daily task ? 
I know what he would have me do — 
Those lips are ready now to ask, 
^*Do you intend to live less true?" 



39 



George's elegy for karl ardent. 



Were it not best to stand erect, 

Whatever good or ill befall ? 

How well just now I recollect 

His morning greeting and call 

To follow when we heard the cry 

Of pain sweep down the burning street,— 

He did not hesitate to die 

To make some other life more sweet? 

How beautiful it is that such 
As he are vouchsafed to the world ! 
Around us moves and lingers much 
So lowly vile : men's souls are curled 
Within coarse mantles — weak as grass. 
They imitate and ape the throng 
And link themselves close to the class 
Who do not feel another's wrong. 

But this bold pioneer of mine 
Had shut his teeth, compressed his lips. 
And vowed that he would not resign 
Himself to empty gain ; the whips 
Which swing in Custom's coward hand 
He scorned as only valiant heroes can,— 
His life was calm, the day's command 
He kept, and stood a noble man. 



40 



GEORGE'S ELEGY FOR KARL ARDENT. 



Ah ! his was the frankest heart : 
He never quailed nor fear could know, 
And never tried the shameless art 
Which cowards train to meet a foe ; 
But like the cloudless sun at dawn — 
His face bespoke the hidden thought, 
And crystal clear the voice now gone 
His soul's expression sweetly wrought. 

Where is he now ? Oh ! Faith, I see 
The gold tints on the sun-set sky : 
Those beauties ! have they small degree 
Of lights which meet his sainted eye ? 
What could I w^ish for him — a rest 
Where pain and labor find release ? 
No I no ! for him it seemed the best 
To see the tasks begun, increase. 

Who is it longs for rest ? not souls 
Tvike his ; and where his spirit dwell, 
I know his throbbing brain patrols 
The wronged. And now, O Karl, farewell 
Had it been mine to make the choice, 
I would have chained thee to this heart ; 
But I submit : henceforth thy voice, 
Though gone, new courage shall impart. 



41 



George's celestine. 

GEORGE'S CELESTINE. 

To-day 1 looked into the past — 

It is a picture sad and vast ; 

Crime and intrigue are everywhere, 

Men lose themselves and lightly err 

To win renown ; soldiers are lost 

In bliss to see their brothers tossed 

Upon the earth, and scarcely ask 

How hearts will wring with woe ; they bask 

In smile of emperor whose least salute 

Quick wins the wavering recruit. 

I am not faint to know that through 

The years men rushed to arms and drew 

Heart blood without a tear or sigh : 

Mayhap because men dared to die 

Ourselves and loved are named the free, 

And breathe the air of liberty. 

But, O Celeste, thy beaming face 

And open heart and woman's grace. 

Are more to me than all the fame 

That lives about heroic name. 

Oh sw^eet ! to know that every hour. 

Afar or near, love's magic power 

Abides, and thy dear heart is true 

To our first pledge ; the mystic blue 

Of thy fair-speaking, modest eyes 

Is part of all I see ; surprise 

42 



GEORGE'S CELESTINE. 

Of song that came and went, as soft 

You touched the keys, and trilled the oft 

Repeated notes, lives on and gains 

In melody as other strains 

I hear. Celeste, thy voice was low 

When evening shadows fell ; the glow 

Of sunset kissed the hills, and tears 

Were on my cheeks ; unbidden fears 

Crowded themselves into my heart 

When it was ours to kiss and part ; 

But each day's toil is firmer writ 

In earnestness to make it fit 

Approval for thy coming smile. 

When I shall clasp thy hand, and style 

Thee queen of all that life may hold ; 

And were my honors thousand-fold 

As rich as ever came to gifted men, 

ril live the old joy oft again, 

Which thrilled me through, sublimely blessed 

When your full heart its love confessed. 



43 



George's friend in trouble. 



CxEORGE'S FRIEND IN TROUBLE. 

Two eyes he saw, and after that 

He forgot where he was, and slipped his hat 

On backward, and felt a thrill 

Of trembling get into his w^ill. 

And he went from the church all awake 

With something that made his big heart ache 

To see that face again and to rest 

His eyes unknown upon the crest 

Of her hat; and then a little more bold 

He felt somewhat like the lovers of old 

That his time had come. Asleep that night 

He dreamed as usual ; he blew out the light 

But saw in the darkness cold and deep 

The lips of red and the graceful sweep 

Of her head, and the chastest smile 

And dimples that played and stayed awhile, 

Then changed to new places in her cheeks. 

The hours after that stretched out into weeks, 

And his appetite grew slowly faint 

And in his slumbers there came the taint 

Of hope or despair : the rest of the fair 

Ones had grown strangely poor and bare 

44 



George's friend in trouble. 

Of beauty for him. And Oh ! this boy, 

My friend, so big and strong, like a toy 

On the ocean was tossed about 

With love : and he who had been so stout 

And had laughed at danger and darkness, grew weak 

And timid, and fearful, and afraid to seek 

What most he prized. I said '' Now, go 

Win the girl like the man you are, and show 

What mettle is in your nerve and blood '' — 

To-night the news came like a thud 

Of surprise ; for J. E. in the spring will marry 

And change the but not the Carrie. 



45 



LONGING. 



LONGING. 



George is guessing what will be 

The morrow weather, and if we 

Can set our light canoe askim 

On the river's eddying brim ; 

Wondering if the rain will pelt 

Round the water's edge where dwelt 

The droves of ducks we slyly slipped 

Upon, as noislessly the oars we dipped. 

And we figure when the flowers 

Will follow fast the warming showers, 

And the lilacs soft awake 

Such odors in the wind to shake ; 

When the grass will spread as soft 

As our boyhood pillows in the loft, 

And the north wind will forget 

For a season short to fret 

The maple trees that sigh and swing 

Like a war-encumbered king. 

We wonder if the well-sown field 

Will for the farmer plenteous yield. 

And if the mortgage hanging o'er 

The home can be released before 

It falls. George asks me when perhaps 

We can take a calm relapse 

46 



LONGING 

Out in the sunlight as it steals 

Across the hills amid the peals 

Of tree-top swinging bird and hum 

Of morning things : the distant drum 

Of pheasants in the tangled wood 

And hen-hawk's cry of hardihood. 

And sometimes, too, we whisper low 

About the future and the slow 

Approach of P'ortiine— skittish dame — 

Who in our youthful fancy came 

With palaces of art and sweet 

Release from toil, where weary feet 

And tired hands might rest and greet 

Our sisters and our brothers who 

Had been less happy, and slow grew 

In wealth and fame. And then we fret 

For swift return to her w^ho let 

Us go with tear-dimmed eye and breath 

That murmured some of fear lest death 

Should steal away maternal bliss 

Which comes when falls our greeting kiss. 

And O, we muse about the day 

When love shall come to us and stay 

No more to shy and live in books 

Alone : we question with what looks 

The spell will come to him and me — 

In loveliest, fairest modesty, 

Or taunting, dangerous co(|uetr}'. 

47 



LONGING 

Will it be eyes of flashing dark 

And cheek of marble with the mark 

Of pink ? or will the eyes unseen 

Be heaven's own blue ? and lips between 

Which pearls of whiteness gently show, 

While all the time they carry glow 

Of reddest red ? and when we meet 

With sadness and a strange retreat 

Of joy we find in prose or song, 

We wonder O, how far, how long 

Must be the way until new laugh 

Can be evoked, and lost the half 

Of all the heavy load that's flung 

Into life's scales so strangely swung. 

And many times there comes the guess 

When hearts will meet in tenderness 

To see the prodigal out-cast 

Find pity in men's love at last ; 

When worships of the rich shall be 

A thing of only memory, 

A shadow in the past so filled 

With wrong, which sweetest sweetness killed. 

And O, we count the little span 

Allotted to the full-lifed man, 

And see the days spin off so swift 

Into the realms where shadows drift ; 

And then we long for courage strong 

To help the right, make fail the wrong, 

48 



LONGING. 

To bring the day long shut from earth, 
To haste the time of that new birth 
Of man which shall bring in the reign 
Of love without such bitter stain 
Of self. And we look far across 
The stream, and see a gain in loss 
Of parting at the place called death — 
And catch new hope with every breath. 



49 



George's lady. 



GEORGE'S LADY. 

And she is fair as the early rose, 

As pure as the breath of the morning that blows 

From the hill where the mated flowers droop 

In sweetness, and the whitest lilies group. 

Oh ! she is lovely as the morn 

With its clusters of clouds upborne ; 

As the day when the shower has sudden left 

The sun-light look through the clouds, bereft 

Of the echoing thunder crash 

And the livid lightning's maddened flash. 

Oh ! she is whiter in soul than the flake 

Which eddys and sinks in the hidden brake 

Of the forest trees ; and her lips are still 

Unkissed by another ; her calm eyes fill 

With joy when my hand in hers is placed. 

And her life is as beauteous and chaste 

As the rain-drop which circles and sinks 

In the sunlight ; as the bell which clinks 

From afar as the timid herd climbs over 

The hills all wrapped in their mantle of clover. 

Oh ! she is as frank as the early star 

When the skies of curtains all spotless are ; 

50 



George's lady. 

As the maiden who trusting loves 

Her brother ; as sweet is she as the doves 

That cooing sit quiet and soften their voice 

Oh ! she is my love and I am her choice — 

Unworthy, too, of her gifted trust ; 

And the harshness all the notes encrust 

When I offer a song in the dead 

Of night as she sleeps in her snow-white bed 

Above me where I lie in the pallid light 

Of the moon, and around is the veil of night. 



51 



TO A LITTLE GIRL. 



TO A LITTLE GIRL. 

Such eyes ! jet black, and too, 

They sparkle and thrill me through. 

Your apron is tied as neat as the rose 

Fits into its place — such bows 

Only mothers can make. 

See here, little one, don't shake 

Your head so harshly nor cough. 

For the dimples might fall off. 

Your playthings are there on the sod, 

Left careless to answer a nod 

Of greeting that came from the man 

Who brings the berries and keeps the can 

Of milk in the cart, in front 

Of his feet, and drives the pigs that grunt, 

And whistles the dogs that hunt. 

Your blooming, bonnetted face 

Bears not the first little trace 

Of shame or grief, and the tears 

That gather for a few short years 

To come, will be light as the dew — 

So quick to depart and so to renew ! 

And the silvery tones of your tongue 

Like wood-bird notes, are flung 

With laughter's own careless pearls. 

Which sweetly jostle the curls 

52 



TO A LITTLE GIRL. 

About your ears. In the distant land 

The Master's gentle command 

To his followers by the sea 

Was the wish that they might be 

Like the children who came to him. 

Faces grow long and grim 

As the years crowd on and sweep 

With remorseless steps, and deep 

The voice gets, and carries a tone 

Of business. But I am prone 

Almost to wish that your 

Sweet self as you are might endure. 

O what would you like the best ? 

Your playthings lose sudden the zest 

Of daily pleasure for you : 

You need a toy or dolly that's new. 

Sweet one ! it pleases me so 

To steal a kiss ; and you don't know 

How much is the trouble your mother takes 

To butter your bread and cool off the cakes, 

To smooth down the pillow and curl your hair, 

And fix in your heart a little prayer. 

But we'll not vex us now and wonder 

What is to be, but ever soft under 

My vest remembrance of best kiss 

I'll keep — You are too perfect for this 

Crooked rhyme : and now we must say good-by 

Be just a girl and don't you dare cry. 

53 



LIFE'S MIXTURE. 

LIFE'S MIXTURE. 

Unsung men die ! but this has naught 
Of pain for me : such tears bedew 
My heart to see men still untaught 
In deeds of love and mercy too. 

Dear little children moan and press 
Thin lips to mother's sadly marred 
With shame, made sadder with distress : 
And love's fair gates are harshly jarred. 

The wheels of commerce grind and crush 
Fair childhood still in tenderest bloom, 
And over song they bring a hush, 
And into love a murderous gloom. 

Oh ! wealth of gold is empty spite 
Of drapery and jewels rare : 
Hearts are the home, and lives delight 
Where passion pure outrivals care. 

Such blighted lives in prisons droop 
And quiver at the faint recall 
Of her who smiling used to stoop 
And coo and let the kisses fall. 

The summer creeps into the year 
And brings the spring and flowers back, 
But cannot wake my loved so dear 
Who sleep beside the wagon track. 

54 



life's mixture. 

Nor does it heal the wounded hearts 
So foully seared with careless wrong ; 
It needs love's rarest art of arts 
To fill the soul with sweetest song. 

The year is steeped with wild delight, 
And autumn crowns it round with gold ; 
But sorrow's links the chain unite — 
Not half life's pain was ever told. 

O heart ! it is not fortune's thrust 
Of bitterness at thee I note ; 
But those I love life's woes encrust, 
And stop the music in my throat. 

But joy will come to them and I 
Will seal the sadness ere it slips 
And sets the tear drop in my eye 
And burns upon these fevered lips. 



55 



IS LIFE WORTH LIVING? 



IS LIFE WORTH LIVING? 

The smile of the girls and the jolly joke 
Of the boys as we meet and give and take 
Keen thrusts of humor, and gently poke 
A pun to set the laughter awake. 

There is a sweetness in the strain 

Of music that comes from the new church choir : 

As they sing the old tunes with soft refrain 

I feel myself borne higher and higher. 

And there is such joy in the dear sunrise 
As it mounts the towering steeples and hills, 
Streaks away on the scattered clouds and the skies, 
And awakes again the whistles and mills. 

And, too, it is so good to work 
All the day and scarcely note as flies 
The time fast away, and never shirk 
A duty till slumber bedews the eyes. 

Oh pleasant ! to watch the moon and the stars 

As they scatter across the blue, 

While below me hurry the passenger cars 

And carry their precious freight safely through. 

56 



IS LIFE WORTH LIVING ? 

Oh blessing ! to meet the ones who held 
To me fast when life was dark and cold, 
When through the sadness, so hardly quelled, 
Small hope of success was left to hold. 

High treasure of life ! to live for those 

Who silently sorrow and anxious wait 

For the good time to come when the beaten foes 

Of high effort their warfare abate. 

And, then, to know that true deed and word 
Of kindness forever endure and win 
New beauty wherever they are seen and heard, 
From the moment they first begin. 



57 



THE BEST IN THE WORLD ! 



THE BEST IN THE WORLD ! 

A SONG to-night, boys? Alas ! I would 

That I had music in my soul — Homer could 

If he were here. Suppose I try a toast ? 

^^Our sweethearts?" you know that pleases most 

Young fellows anytime, by day or night ; 

But then you see Vm older and not quite 

So like to wander off on things like that — 

Don't leave us, Jim ; some one pull off his hat. 

Jim met with a misfortune late, 'tis said. 

Talk '^sweet-heart" to him, he gets as rich, ripe red 

As cranberries when they are nicely cooked. 

And it's whispered round that Charley hooked 

His girl from him down at the dance — 

The boy I he's got an uncle and two aunts 

With lots of money ; they keep him trim, 

And the sweetest girl in town will smile on him. 

But to-night there is a fairer one for me — 

You don't believe it? Wait. Do you see 

That letter over there ? my pen is wet. 

The ink is dripping from it yet ; 

Inside of that is the story of my love : 

A pretty theme ? Ah I yes, it is, but above 

58 



THE BEST IN THE WORLD ! 

The common songs that line our books — 

I see a face ! how sweet and pure it looks ! 

There is no error here ; fortune may never smile, 

Or if she come and fail, I know the while 

This love is fixed as yonder northern star ; 

And if I linger near or wander far. 

Wide open arms, caresses chaste, as sweet 

As angel smile are hidden there to greet, 

Oh ! those hands have cooled my fevered brow — 

How vividly I see the tears (you must allow 

Me time to be myself again) I felt 

A thickening in my throat ; 'twill quickly melt 

As other memories come streaming on : 

Of patient toil, blest deeds of love ; at dawn 

The day was ushered in by tenderest cares ; 

Sweet songs of cheer and oft-unuttered prayers ; 

And as the sun crept up his circled steep 

All worn with play safe-guarded I could sleep. 

Jt was her love tones, too, when shadows came 

Could put such sweetness in my rugged name ; 

And how it spurred my hope to know that she, 

In faith that never shook, could urge a plea 

Before the throne that guards the sparrow's fall. 

The world's mishaps might come, and through it all 

I saw a toil-worn hand held out to me 

Which chained and yet could always set me free. 

Yes; talk about your sweethearts, — their eyes 

Struck from the blue that rims these northern skies; 

59 



THE BEST IN THE WORLD ! 

Or, if perchance, you rather have them jet. 
Who knows whether they look upon another, w^et 
With weeping ? And, too, the arts which they essay 
May charm somebody else when you're away. 
IVe plucked the fairest lily on the lake — 
Send yours wherever you will, I vow to take 
This one, and with a kiss and accent low 
I'll crown the queen of womankind below ; 
And do you guess whose is such nameless worth ? 
It is my mother ! the sweetest name on earth. 



60 



FAREWELL ! 

FAREWELL ! 

No revelry to-night 

While we sit, and talk, and tell 

Of the times when our hearts were light 

And no darkening shadows fell. 

The books are tossed away, 
While we turn the theme that suits 
Us best : the things of to-day. 
And hap'ly no one confutes. 

Who dare disturb as we sit, 
And hurl wild jokes, and guess 
Whom Cupid, the wily, will hit 
The first and so sore distress ? 

I go to-morrow to seek 

The southern sky where flowers 

Are mixed with the fruit, and the freak 

Of frost never stops the showers. 

Who w^ill live the best of us boys ? 
Who will keep these memories sweet ? 
Who will guard while the world employs 
Its arts to entangle his feet? 

Good by, now Karl and Jim, 

Till we meet with the gathered news — 

And Homer, we all love him, 

And wait for the tread of his shoes. 

6i 



FAREWELL ! 

No cup dripping down with wine 
Do we lift to our laughing lips ; 
Our mothers like us to incline 
Away from the tempting sips. 

Our sweet-hearts wherever they be 
We long for and then suppress 
The secrets which trouble us three 
While our hand- grips tight we press. 

Adieu ! and ever keep 
From shame, and hopeing go 
That while the seasons sweep 
Our love may live aglow. 



62 



THE DARK SIDE. 

THE DARK SIDE. 

Father of light, thy children weep 
To-night in palace, hut and hall : 
Wherever stars their vigil keep 
The bitter tear-drops fall. 

Some hearts are seared with wildest pain, 
Some child is faint and sad alone ; 
And in the sunshine falls the rain 
The cypress swings and starts the moan. 

The tangled webs of life swift spin 
Away, and cheeks grow strangely pale ; 
In place of purity the tracks of sin 
Are marked, and strong hearts quail. 

Oh ! power for good is madly turned 
From what it needed, might have done ; 
Love's path-way, too, is coldly spurned 
And filthy wishes foul begun. 

Sits everywhere the widowed one. 
Her children sw^ept away so far ; 
And when the day's small tasks are done 
Her prayer goes after where they are. 

Talent and worth are nameless crushed, 
And hope droops down her head ; 
The sweetest song mayhap is hushed 
By poverty which weighs like lead. 

63 



THE BRIGHT SIDE. 



THE BRIGHT SIDE. 

To-night around the hearth fires sit 
United hearts, and in the glow 
From off the flames which shining flit. 
Sweet conversations ebb and flow. 

Joy beams from the eyes that I chance to meet, 
And happiness everywhere looks and lurks; 
While childish, pattering, unshod feet 
Are beating the sand like little Turks. 

The lip of the mourner sighing, stills 
The pain as it climbs from the heart below ; 
Across the meadow and over the hills 
Are coming the songs I used to know. 

The babies are cooing, and parent joy 
Is drunk with the speech of one-year-olds ; 
Young hands are tossing the latest toy. 
And an arm the wayward son enfolds. 

The lover is calm in the promise true 
Which his sweet-heart trusting gives ; 
Old age is hoping again to renew 
Its youth in the land which all time lives. 

64 



THE BRIGHT SIDE. 

Strong freemen are proud in spite 
Of poverty which grips them fast, 
While they court and do not shun the fight, 
And win the needed joys at last. 

And love is reaching out apace 
To succor the souls whose lives are dark, 
And sweetness is gathering in the face 
Where scowling had furrowed deep its mark. 



65 



A CHRISTIAN S THANKSGIVING PRAYER. 



A CHRISTIAN'S THANKSGIVmG PRAYER. 

Dear Lord, what prayer now shall I give ? 
*^ It is so beautiful to live ; '' 
And thou art O, so far away — 
Can this be true ? Thy word does say 
That as days come and quickly end, 
Forever thou dost near attend. 
Shall I thank thee in heart because 
No pain I bore, and rich applause 
Was mine ? Is it for joy we stay 
Within this tenement of clay ? 
Oh Christ ! thy steps across the plain 
Were dogged, but thou didst not complain ; 
Shall I then dare to inward plead 
That joy unstinted be my meed? 
The poet's heart, sore, crushed with pain, 
Has sung its sweetest, softest strain. 
And men who dropped time's golden sand 
Unused away, grow nobly grand 
Because some grief upon them sent 
Awoke to life the deep intent. 
Did rosy lips turn lily-white 
And death sink all my day in night? 
Mayhap it was thine own right hand 
Dropped dow^n to save a burning brand. 

66 



A CHRISTIAN'S THANKSGIVING PRAYER. 

Shall I thank thee for gain alone, 

Because my hopes have wildly grown 

By some unheralded success ? 

Or shall I join the throng and bless 

Thee for the providential dart 

Which pierced me through, laid bare my heart ? 

Father, for gain and loss I owe 

Thee song and prayer : how can I know 

With these dim-sighted, human eyes ? 

Grief may be good in dark disguise. 



67 



NEW YEAR LINES. 



NEW YEAR LINES. 

O LIFE SO sweet ! with joy so filled ! 

And O so brief ! The sunset tints 

Across the hills now gently gild 

The clouds ; down drop the darkness' hints. 

The vesper bell rings w^ildly loud 
And beckons me to look within ; 
Who has been false and vilely proud 
Come now and claim relief from sin. 

Father of all, to-night the year 
With its great freight of love and crime 
Must wrap the shroud mid winds so blear 
And sink into the tomb of time. 

We would not weep this hour unless 
The fainting heart and careless lip 
Have missed a chance to love and bless, 
And so have let some good deed slip. 



68 



A LETTER I LOVE. 



A LETTER I LOVE. 



Three letters to-night ; and the best 

Has come all the way from the West, 

Where the sunsets dip low in the sea, 

x\nd the Chinaman, sir Hop Lee, 

Wears his cue and laundries the shirts. 

Where the red-wood tree so stately skirts 

The hills. There the goat and the wild-sheep play, 

And the hunter beats the brush all day. 

O summer is there the long, long year 

While the frost and the snow are vexing here ; 

And the purple grapes cluster and cling 

In the leaves while the girls laugh and sing 

And taunt the boys with a dearth of smiles, 

While into their hearts come the aching wiles 

And wishes and hopes that sometime yet 

One manly and strong and brave will set 

Their love all aflame ; and their wishes lend 

A beauty to all they do, and send 

The red to their cheeks. But here svhere I 

Am threading my life's task through, the sky 

Is sullen sometimes and the breezes blow 

TJr.eir freight of ice, and the flakes of snow 

Toss about and catch in the curls that deck 

The school-girl's eyes and ringlet her neck. 

Here the woods are bare, and the songs of the winil 

Are mixed with moaning, and sad rescind 



A LETTER I LOVE. 

The joy that comes with the crowding night 
As the sun-set sinks in colors so bright. 
But summer is at my side, though thin 
Ice covers the marsh, and the skates begin 
To rest again : the seasons are in 
The heart and the brain, I guess, 
Whatever be the wide world's dress. 



70 



TRIBUTE. 



TRIBUTFl 



O BROTHERS ! who slecp in the camping ground 
Of the land which no drum-beat ever hears, 
Oh ! green be the grass which mantles the mound 
Unwatered by kindred^s bedewing tears. 

O nameless I wherever your couch is spread, 
Where the cypress swings and the stars look through, 
And the hills lift above your voiceless bed. 
Our loves still follow and cling to you. 

O comrades! now numbered with the roll which grows 
As the days dissolve in the longer span. 
May flowers as pure as the drifting snows 
Be scattered as only our sisters can. 

O veterans ! who linger and faint on the shore 
Of the stream that leads out to the uncrossed sea 
When the bark floats away, but comes back no more — 
What laurels shall we twine this day for thee ! 

O God of our fathers ! thou gavest to keep 
Such valleys and mountains, such wandering streams — 
The gem of the ages, with issues so deep. 
Fulfillment and more of prophet's wild dreams. 

O people ! whose banner with new-rising stars 
Floats the wave and matches in meaning the best, 
Who fails in devotion, thy purity mars, 
And has lost the pearlest of patriot zest. 



TO JAMES WHITCOMB RILEY. 

TO JAMES WHITCOMB RILEY. 

Thy passion may not be as deep 

As Burns', but 'tis so sweet 

In artless song : thy measures sweep 

In cadences along; the street 

Of crowded city does not win 

Applause the most from thee, 

But everywhere is written in 

The rural life unmixed and free. 

Why does the strong man bend and strain 
To catch the story as it showers 
Upon his heart? and children fain 
Would bring their sweetest flowers ! 
Life is a simple, tragic thing : 
Its joys drop wildly do\Yn, and then 
They start away on sudden wing. 
But poets bring them back again. 

Who lives the best? Is he that sings 
The songs of woe and death and crime — 
The tragic fate of haughty kings^ 
The prophet of the coming time ? 
Or is it they who lift to light 
Unnumbered sweets that waiting lie 
Long hidden and forgotten quite 
With those who live and love and die ? 



72 



LET^S BE HAPPY; 

LET'S BE HAPPY. 

Sometimes a smile is on my lip, 
A beauty in each face I see, 
And then the wicked shadows slip 
Into life's joy and burden me. 

Sometimes it rains ^tid blows so coid 
At every crevice round the door, 
But hearth-joys fair our lives enfold, 
And we are rich nor ask for more. 

Who cannot see in c^arkest day 
Some loveliness though skies are chill. 
Has' missed the path where angels stay, — 
He slights the good and hunts the ill. 

Who finds a rose and then looks close 
To see the thorn that grows too near ; 
Who smiles so hard, yet is morose, 
He makes the dreary day more drear. 

I love the summer skies, the morn. 
When bird-songs wake the sleeping ear, 
When clover-blooms the fields adorn. 
And heaven seems Oh! so wondrous near. 

But weather-bureaus are vile things 
To make us cry or even laugh ; 
If these could guage heart flutterings, 
Our joy would not be whole nor half. 

73 



UNPARALLELED. 



UNPARALLELED. 

Eyes so fair and wondrous grace 
In every motion ; step so light 
And kindest smiles all o'er her face, 
And teeth so lily-white. 

Speech so like the river's flow, 
And glance of artless art ; 
Pity for all, while cheeks aglow 
Revealed the fawn-like heart. 

Among the flowers her laughter sweet 
Gave gentle challenge to the cry 
Of birds : the food tossed near her feet 
They caught nor made slight haste to fly. 

Ready she was to stoop and trace 
The grime and tears away 
From some besaddened face 
Which missed the wished-for play. 

No coquetry nor long-laid plan 
Was hers in things of love ; but just 
An open soul where you could scan 
Sweet purity and cautious trusts. 



74 



BEST THINGS. 



BEST THINGS. 

The sob of the sea is sweet to me, 
And the murmur of the sky blue lake ; 
Its echoes live on, increase in degree 
As I speed in the wide world's wake. 

The moaning of winds among the pines 
And the flutter of flags in the breeze ; 
The sobbing of prayer while an arm entwines 
The boy's neck as he pleads on his knees. 

The bay of the hound as he scents the trail. 
And the shout as it rings across the wood ; 
The whistle and whirr of the delicate quail 
As he flies from the place where he lately stood- 

The touch of a sweet-heart's hand, her talk, 
Her smile, her eyes of beautiful blue; 
Her step as light as a kitten's walk, 
And her laughter of happiness too. 

The jingle of coins when they are settled in 
This pocket of mine with such large space ; 
And slices of cake cut long and thin ; 
A man with a heart all aglow, and the grace 

75 



BEST THINGS. 

Of whose speech lingers on in my ear 

And sets me astir — half aflame 

Until I forget all traces of fear, 

And struggle to climb and cut my name 

In the scroll of those who loved, and died 
For the world, who suffered and won renown 
For noble deeds, oftimes defied 
Base leisure, and stooped to win a crown. 

But I like my mother, 1 guess the best, 
And my sister Alice she comes next ; 
Then the fields in wild flowers dressed ; 
Last the preacher who murders his text. 



76 



A FACE. 



A FACE. 



Two eyes all merriment, 

A mouth 'round which the grin 

Went racing ; and glance swift sent, 

On gentle mischief bent. 

Opened a door for sin. 

Kisses were poor enough 
To print upon those lips; 
They are sweeter with stuff 
Bought from the shop-man gruff, 
Which child hand tightly grips. 

Roses are blooming there. 
And curls are twining the ears ; 
Fairer than painting most fair, 
The treasure of mother's best care. 
All mingled with patient fears. 

From this that I now^ look on 

Is to be the woman for love 

Of someone when girl-hood is gone; 

And pure she must be as the dawn. 

Fit for the future above. 



11 



SONG, 



SONG. 

O TOSSING, wild willow, thy nerveless unrest 
Is soft as the touch of a snow-white hand ; 
The zephyrs thy branches so lightly invest — 
In memories so sweet all enraptured I stand. 

O evening, you turn me to dreaming awake! 

O sunset that sobers and sinks as the star 

Comes gleaming, you make my heart sadden and break 

To go where my love and her flowers are. 

O warble of sky-lark that circles and sings, 
You start me from sighing and set me aglow 
To sit at the feet of the maiden who brings 
Such music of laughter and whispers so low. 

O breath of the south land, how far do you fly? 
You swing through her tresses and travel the lea ; 
Do you steal the wild tear-drop that sits in her eye? 
O what is the message she sends now to me? 



7^ 



ANOTHER LETTER. 



ANOTHER LETTER. 

To-night a message is mine 

From over the salt-sea waves 

Where the myrtle sings and twining vine 

Creeps over historic graves. 

The sunset is golden, I hear, 
In the fair Italian skies ; 
No winter creeps into the year 
And the sea-moan never dies. 

The flowers and grapes are set 

With colors dipped from the warm sun's rays; 

St. Peter's tall turrets fret 

In the heat, and feeble thought raise. 

And pictures are hung so fair 
From the masters of long ago ; 
Bewildered life loses its care 
As you live with Angelo. 

And beauty is around so calm 
In marble ; and mosaics rare 
Are under your feet ; the balm 
Of summer is everywhere. 

79 



ANOTHER LETTER. 

I want to go, too, but yet I love 
The sun-sets that sink down the lane, 
And the rainbows so placid above 
The trees set thrilling my brain. 

Oh ! beauty is starred in the night 

And strewn in the woods with the flowers ; 

It lives in the swallows' flight, 

And in the maple's high towers. 

And it presses so near on the street 
Where the children flock and laugh. 
Where brothers and sisters meet 
And increase their joys by half. 



80 



EVENING IN THE CITY. 



EVENING IN THE CITY. 

To-NIGHT is the last ere Sunday comes, 
And the city is all awake ; 
The street-car grinds and gloomily hums, 
And the window shutters shake. 

The locomotive shrieks, 

And its bell clangs brassy notes ; 

The drayman's wagon creaks, 

And the north wind blows our coats. 

The opera troupe is on the street. 
And the small boy threads his way 
Through the crowd; the dust is on his feet, 
And the marbles are put away. 

The tree-tops sigh and fret 
And lunge in the growing gale ; 
The band strikes a tune to get 
More money from the ticket sale. 

The peanut man gets hoarse 
From shouting to quicken his trade ; 
He'll give you good measure, of course — 
^A nickel is all, don't be afraid." 

8i 



EVENING IN THE CITY. 

The clatter of shoes is on the walk 
And laughter is wide awake ; 
The fakir begins his impromptu talk 
Which makes the lazy sides shake. 

The cab-man cracks his whip 
And speeds on his way to meet the train 
Where the drummer w411 come with heavy grip 
And fee and jokes to stagger your brain. 



82 



LINES. 



LINES. 



The pines moaned to me and swung 
In the breath of the nearing spring, 
The dead vines twisting clung 
To the porch where the heavens flung 
The drops of rain. The crumpled grass 
Was matted and turned to gray, 
And the blue-jay, king of his class, 
Kept clattering away. 

The winter-bird chirped and ate 

The seed-pods and crumbs from the stones. 

And fluttered away at a rate 

So careless and defied with his tones 

So cheery my near approach. 

From the barn came the call of the cows, 

And down the road wheeled the coach, 

And the children played in the mows. 

The dark clouds heavy crossed 

The dome where their edges lay 

In folds : in spots they tossed 

Apart, and the sparing ray 

Of the sun looked hopeful through. 

The echoes of spring-time will soon 

Be blent with the turtle's coo. 

And the trees will dip in a fairer moon. 

83 



LINES. 

The year has broken again 
Its fetters of snow and ice, 
And the hidden heart of men 
Is watching for new device 
Of mastery in the game 
Which we put into life ; 
The poet is building his fame, 
And the lover is wooing a wife. 



84 



SPRING AGAIN ! 



SPRING AGAIN ! 



The doves begin to coo and woo 
Again, and the robin chirps as though 
He had his mate and nothing to do 
But warble and watch the river flow. 

The sportsman is out again and waits 

For the ducks that light on the river and float 

Too near ] the fisherman longing baits 

His hook and pulls the perch in the boat. 

The farmer is knocking the corn-stalks down 
And sowing the yearly field of oats, 
And hauling his surplus grain to town. 
And counting his wabbling shotes. 

And bob-white is climbing the fence 
And whistling with joy that winter's host 
Is gone, and the waiters commence 
To serve less quail on toast. 

The thunder roars far along the sky 

And startles the women and girls ; 

The lightning-rod man is waiting to ply 

His trade, and save from Jove's angry hurls. 

Sweet spring time ! life bubbles again 

In wood and on street, and hearts grow big 

With gladness, and pessism's men 

Are softened and walk with a lighter jig. 

8S 



AN EVENING HYMN. 

AN EVENING HYMN. 

The sky is decked with wondrous gems 

Of a wide-sweeping universe ; 

The ardor of the day is done, 

And distant from the bridge so terse 

Is swept the locomotive blast. 

The steps of 'lated labor glide 

Across the lane so eager — fast 

To reach the baby, and confide 

The day's report of things to her 
Whose love is still serene, aglow 
With that high earnestness it kept 
When they full twenty years ago 
Knelt down, and prayed, and solemn gave 
Their pledge before the world. High joys 
Are these where passion sweet lives on 
And kindlier arts each day employs. 

The plaintive song of hope is passed 
At random from the lips, and leaps 
In awkward strains : so eager flows 
The love w^hich gains, and secret weeps 
In anxious fear which no one knows. 
The watch-dog speeds the wagon on 
And whines and asks in snarling tones 
For his fair share of unused things, 
And eager grabs rejected bones. 

86 



AN EVENING HYMN. 

The children prance the room and coo 
And tussle wildly on the floor ; 
The father roars and mother warns, 
And into hope a prayer they pour. 
Unseen alas ! the shadows flit 
Across the future none can mark — 
O Providence, thy hand hath sealed 
The sunrise and the shadows dark. 

O sunniest hours that fill our span ! 
O place of pain and parent cheer ! 
The early roof that slopes across 
Where life began its dawning year. 
O seat of sweetest mysteries 
That twine the heart and press the tears ! 
Sweet home ! the jewel of the world 
The comforter of gathering fears. 



87 



RHYME EVERYWHERE. 



RHYME EVERYWHERE. 

Sweet song is in the lifted dome 

Of Peter's gilded church at Rome, 

And breaks O, so much nearer home ; 

And while it lives along Zermatt, 

It echoes where the wood-man sat 

Holding his ax which deftly hurls 

The trees ; and rythm is in the curls 

That wind the neck and toss about 

Fair cheeks where roses red flush out. 

It sobs along the ocean shore 

Where waves pile high and madly roar 

Across the sands, and crowd the shells 

Far out upon the beach. Sweet bells 

Swing soft in yon exalted tower — 

It is the call of vesper hour ; 

And hearts turn tender as the sun 

Sinks fast from sight, while mixed rays run 

Far out upon the arched sky, 

And night looks forth with star-lit eye. 

Sad verse lives on the pallid cheek. 

On lips that curse or softly speak 

88 



RHYME EVERYWHERE. 

Of love, and carry such a smile 
While dimples double round the while. 
High music sweeps among the stars 
And echoes as the railway cars 
Go pounding down the crooked track, 
And carry you and me straight back 
To lips we kissed but late, while tears 
Came with each breath, and horrid fears 
Lest parting there perchance no more 
To meet again. In days of yore 
Men sang of kings and set with these 
The melody of rills and trees. 
Avon's great bard loved humblest things. 
And while he sweeps heroic strings 
The moan of broken hearts is mixed 
Where tragic deeds of war are fixed. 
The brook leaps down the rocky steeps. 
Tosses itself o'er stones, and creeps 
Into the cool and restful pool, 
Murmurs, and wins the boys from school. 
And frets itself among the weeds, 
Then darts so swift and steady leads 
Out in the sun, and last is lost 
In larger flow, and madly tossed 
Into the lake, while here it moans 
And mocks the dismal sea-sick groans. 
The muse is dead ! but deathless song 
Has soothed this weary worKl so Icmg, 

80 



RHYME EVERYWHERE. 

And in the change of loss and love 
It lifts the bleeding heart above 
The pain of grief : with faith it soars, 
And into prayer it calmly pours 
New trust and sweeter tenderness 
As men look up and Deity confess. 



90 



A BEAUTIFUL KINDNESS. 



A BEAUTIFUL KINDNESS. 

His arms were long and his jaw was set — 

I can see his eyes flash wildly yet 

When just across the crowded street 

A brutal cabman in his seat 

Drove careless by and jostled hard 

A gray haired lady only a yard 

From the place where Rad calmly sent 

Havana whiffs aloft. He bent 

To set the ragged shawl aright, 

Then roared : ^^That was a barbarous sight; 

Because her dress is old and torn 

And her youthful beauty all outworn, 

That villain wanted to make a show — 

It's plain what men like him do know ! 

I had a mother; years ago 

Her hair was white as Christmas snow 

When last we parted ; her tear-dimmed eyes 

Are with me still, and the brightest skies 

At noon somehow I always love — 

Men folks forget how hard they shove 

These tottering grand-ma-mas around. 

I always count myself half bound 

'J'o watch them when I come to town — 

I don't wear fasli ion's latest i^fown 



A BEAUTIFUL KINDNESS. 

Upon these arms, but they were trained 

To take the soaking when it rained 

At picnics where the crowd was thick : 

It did not bother to turn a little sick 

If I was sure it came because 

I saved somebody. No, sir, applause 

Was stale to me ; I wanted just 

To know that every woman could trust 

These hands if mishaps came. 

You see I go a little lame — 

I fought a brute so huge and wild 

One time that tried to gore a child ; 

She had no gift of gold, but stooped 

And Vound my neck she sobbing looped 

Her curls. I am coarse and rough, but I guess 

The holy Christ can't fail to bless 

Me for some things I did ; the pain 

Was sharp, but there w^as no trace or stain 

Of selfishness that I could see. 

I rather think that we two agree 

On some few points. You haven't said much, 

But there is a smile, and a little touch 

Of sadness in your patient face. 

If you should see my mother, please chase 

The sorrow from her brim-full heart — 

Your train? good by ! too bad to part." 



92 



MUSING. 



MUSING. 

I can't express what is mine to-day 
Of joy : sorrow itself is light, 
And every drop, the trembling spray, 
Is filled with beauty quite. 

Rhymes are so feeble, too, in tone 

To tell the ecstacy I feel ; 

And as I sit and muse alone 

The heart beats quick while memories steal. 

What can I praise? and need I ask 
In such a Avondrous world as this ? 
See ! under every human mask 
The God -like lives ; it is there I wis. 

Old sadness, too, has somehow turned 
Half sweetness, and the pain has merged 
Into feeling so strange ; things spurned 
One time I love, and life is purged. 

Nothing is vile : it is so sweet 
With chance to live for love's own sake. 
No day wings past but that I meet 
Some one who needs a good, firm sluike 

93 



MUSING. 

Of this hard hand of mine that picks 
The flowers and baits the crooked hooks 
For boys, and helps to do their tricks 
And digs the secrets from their looks. 

Were all the world to-night quite free 
From enmity and barbed desire, 
The kingdom of the Christ would be 
On earth, and satan would retire. 



94 



THE GLORY OF WOMEN. 



THE GLORY OF WOMEN. 

^In her long hair/' said stern St. Paul — 
What was the measure of beauty then ? 
Was her loveliness in all 
Its wonder summed up by early men 
So lightly as that? It is, my George confesses, 
Entrancing to look on waving tresses ; 

But what of the lips with delicate curve, 
And teeth pearly white, and silky hands? 
And who would leave out the artful swerve 
In her motion ? And what commands 
Strong manhood more than an artless tone 
Of tenderness ? Leave us alone 

Without their voices and charms so rare 

And the earth would stop. But beauty is not 

All grace ; St. Paul, why over there 

In the city are women forgot, 

Who hold their husbands' sterling hearts 

With almost lack of beauty's arts. 

They never passed for belles in the days 

Far swept in the past, but there was O, such 

A purity and womanly ways 

That made up for the lack so much 

Of beauty that fades from the perfect face 

When no heart is left to live in its place. 

9S 



LINES. 



LINES. 

I CAN not .tell, nor do I fret 
Because 'tis so and will not change ; 
The secrets of the soul are set 
All tenderly and passing strange. 
The dear recall of days swift sped 
Is mine to make : they live again ; 
The faces now so distant led 
Return when soft I set my pen. 

The sunshine ebbs across the hills, 
The stars come scattering in the blue. 
The joy of youth my own heart fills, 
And broken hopes again renew. 
And O, life's woof is knit with things 
All wrapped in shadow, steeped in doubt- 
Does that near bird which for me sings 
Trill even half her music out ? 



96 



THE OLD -THE NEW. 



THE OLD — THE NEW. 

The night winds sigh among the trees, 
A sable cloud shuts out the sky ; 
The hand of God is on the world — 
To-night another year must die. 

The priceless pearls of life drop off 
Into the deep and silent sea ; 
Nor sigh nor tear, nor wish nor hope 
Avails to bring them back to me. 

What is the year? to common thought 
One link of life's fast growing chain ; 
In bank accounts, in character, 
A summing up of loss and gain. 

Parental lips count one more span 
Since wedded sorrows first begun ; 
A little hand let loose its hold. 
And found, please God, a warmer one. 

The mists of time divide again 
As sorrow turns to fairer skies ; 
Touch the long record where you will, 
A new hope lives an old one dies. 

97 



THE OLD -THE NEW. 

Some list the music of yon bells 

And linger o'er the ebbing past; 

The throbbing pulses start again 

As bright dreams sweep that could not last 

If it were mine, what should I choose 
As this great year steals swiftly on ? 
Whence lure those chimes from lifting spires- 
To future or to time that's gone? 

If memory could have her choice, 
Reject the faintest weight of sin, 
How glad the old year might go out, 
How^ bright the new year would begin. 

Unroll the long-drawn scroll and look — 
What vice, what error left behind I 
What burdens broken all the way 
Racked body and compressed the mind I 

The hunger fiend and blackest sins 
Are in the open door-way still, 
But every annual midnight chime 
Exalts my faith in human skill. 

The future in the past I see — 
Ascent, a stairway in the dark — 
The time long sung to all will come. 
Each face will have the God-like mark. 

98 



THE OLD -THE NEW. 

Who are recruits? who will meet hands 
To speed the right, the world along ? 
The studied thought and fearless faith 
Together prove a legion strong. 

Peal on, O bells, I will not shrink 
As echoes long forgot you wake ; 
Mine is a cheerful hope to-night. 
New courage for the race I take. 



99 



THE POET. 



THE POET. 



He must not be too proud to touch 
The viler things of life — his strain 
Should echo sweetly just as much 
The longings of the poor, the pain 

They feel and bear all lone unknown : 
In these no recompense can be 
Like that which falls from kingly throne ; 
But thus he makes the world more free. 

His soul should wild elate, overflow 
With childish glee, and in his heart 
The early loves must keep aglow 
And sweeten all his later art. 

The sorrows of the world he claims ; 
But while he seals with tears his rhyme, 
He lifts the fallen, upward aims, 
And sees approach the better time. 

Oh, seer and prophet of the race ! 
Whose verses sweet so strangely flow ; 
As aspiration moves apace 
He sees beyond the creeds below. 



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